The Ubiquitous Mr Dalton Colt
by xephwrites
Summary: Sam has a mild obsession with a male burlesque dancer named Dalton Colt. Dean thinks that he sounds like a douchebag. But Dean is hiding something.  WARNINGS: Slash, wincest  sorta , mentions of various kinks, please read AN.


From an spn_blindfold prompt: _When Dean sings in the car it's always a little off and he always sings the same old songs 'Mullet Head Classics'. Sam just rolls his eyes and puts his Ipod in his ears. _

_I think it would be cool if Dean only pretends to not sing well but has a hidden talent and kink that Sam knows nothing about. Dean is a singing and dancing stripper in a traveling brothel showcase. He's the headlining act, and is quite famous even Sam's heard of him and has a song of his on his Ipod. It's one of his favorites. It's just that with the outfits and masks, and the sudonim Sam doesn't have a clue that it's Dean. Now the random driving from city to city, doesn't look so random anymore does it?_

* * *

"Sweet home, Alabama," Dean sings off key and loudly.

"God, Dean, just shut up," Sam groaned. "You can't sing, and you butcher every decent song out there." Sam dug out his iPod and put the headphones in.

"What kind of girly shit you puttin' on?" Dean asked, looking over at the small screen.

"Someone with a butt-load more talent than you," Sam said, showing Dean the screen.

"Dalton Colt," he snorted. "What kind of douche-bag name is that?"

Sam rolled his eyes and let the sultry, velvet voice of Dalton fill his ears. It was a raunchy version of "Son Of A Preacher Man", and that voice sent warm waves through Sam.

Sam had never seen Dalton perform live, but he has seen clips of his sets on the Sinaman Burlesque group's website. The man was talented, being able to sing and striptease at the same time, and downright sexy. Sam mused that it was the peacock feathered mask Dalton wore.

The costumes didn't do much for Sam, but that was part of the act, right? Okay, the priest outfit that Dalton wore in that one video, the one that prompted Sam to download the song he's listening to, kind of stirred something in him.

Sam had no idea how long he sat, listening to every Dalton Colt track he had when Dean snapped his fingers in front of Sam's face.

"We're here, you lovesick teenage girl," Dean grumbled as he began unloading their stuff from the trunk.

They settled in to this week's crappy motel, this one with a Copacabana theme. Who comes up with these ideas anyways?

Sam set up his laptop and started searching local websites while Dean showered.

"Taking off for the night," Dean said as he emerged from the bathroom, a billow of steam following him.

"All night," Sam asked, not looking up from the screen.

"Yeah, got a hunter friend in town, haven't seen in a while," Dean said as he quickly dressed.

"Maybe I could meet him," Sam said. "He could have some good information."

Dean arched an eyebrow and gave a lopsided grin.

"Not a he, and doesn't take more than one hunter at a time," Dean gave a wink before sliding on his leather jacket. "Don't wait up, princess."

Sam flipped his brother off as Dean slid out the door.

He ended up on the town's Facebook page. Laugh as Dean might, but Facebook was a halfway decent tool.

Sam damned near choked on his Coke. Sinaman Burlesque was performing tonight, at the Black Rabbit club. Sam checked the time. Show starts in four hours.

Finally, a chance to see this man in action.

Backstage was insane. Girls were running around half naked, getting makeup on and setting hair. One girl was losing her mind, looking for her props. The male twins were being strapped into their harnesses and having their plumes adjusted. Sinaman had picked up Darla's Dressage, a pony play act, premiering with this troop tonight.

In the back corner, rifling through a trunk of costumes and ignoring everyone else, was Dean.

"Dalton," a man called, weaving his way through the crowd. Dean looked up and waved.

"Hey, Petey," Dean said, finally finding his school boy outfit.

"We missed you in Williamsville," the short and round troupe manager said. He stretched out in the chair Dean had claimed as his.

"Yeah, sorry about that," Dean said, slipping his jeans off, revealing a blue velvet g-string. "Real life gets in the way of performing sometimes."

Petey nodded and propped his feet on the table in front of the mirrors.

"What do you have for us tonight," Petey snuck a flask out of his red suit jacket and offered it to Dean. Dean shook his head and stepped into a pair of pull away dress pants.

"Talked to the band about doing Shake Your Lovemaker, they think it's a good idea," Dean took the pants off and began searching again. "Then maybe pull some poor bastard from the audience for a lapdance on stage."

Petey laughed and took another sip from his flask.

"You are a bit of a sadist, aren't you," Petey said as he stood up. Dean nodded as he began flinging clothes everywhere.

"Fuck, I have no idea what to wear," he grumbled. Petey slapped Dean on the shoulder.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were a diva," Petey laughed as he pushed his way through the performers towards the stage entrance.

"Fifteen minutes till showtime, people," Petey shouted.

Dean found exactly what he wanted for tonight.

Sam managed to get a front row table, sharing with a middle aged couple. They didn't mind the third, and the woman kept giving Sam come hither looks. A swinger couple just had to find him. He shyly rejected her advances, but she kept buying his drinks.

The ringmaster act that kicked the show off was pretty cool. She came out in top hat, red trench coat, moving in ways that should be illegal. A quartet of girls did an a Capella version of "My Boy Lollipop", which was nowhere as innocent as the original song was meant to be.

The pony play act had the couple sitting with Sam whispering frantically to each other. Sam did his best to ignore them.

There were a few more unimpressive acts before the headliner. Well, unimpressive to Sam's tastes. He was really looking forward to seeing Dalton Colt.

There was a brief intermission before he performed.

"Have you ever seen Dalton," the woman at his table asked, her hand resting on Sam's arm.

"Not live," Sam said, trying to pull his arm away.

"His act is so hard to catch," she said. "He pops up in such an erratic pattern." Her husband nodded.

"He was supposed to be in Williamsville two weeks ago," the husband provided.

Williamsville, Sam thought. They were there last week. Small world.

The lights dimmed and the audience went nuts.

"Ladies and gentlemen, saints and sinners," the emcee said in a drawl. "Put your hands together for Mister Dalton Colt!"

The audience clapped furiously, and then died down.

The stage was black as the band burst out with a single note. Dalton's smooth, deep and sexy voice cut above the blare of horns. It wasn't exactly words, but that melodic noise that some performers use.

"Shake your lovemaker," he drawled, his voice sounding like he just spent the last half hour fucking.

The lights came up and the crowd went wild again. His back was to the audience as he started to move his hips. He had on his trademark peacock mask, and a deep blue zoot suit that was way too tight to really be qualified as one. He was using a headset to make his dancing easier.

Sam was completely enthralled.

As he sang the song, Dalton's hands were everywhere, like he was making love to himself. He slowly undid the buttons on the suit jacket and slinked out of it, tossing it to the side of the stage. The dress shirt underneath looked like it was painted on him. Sam shifted in his seat. Every note that poured from this man's sinful lips went straight to Sam's groin.

Dalton's body kept moving to the beat as he undid each button slowly. Dalton had the art of teasing down to a science.

Leaving the shirt unbuttoned and the tie draped around his neck, his hands went to the belt. His hands ran up and down the sides of his impressive package as his hips stuttered forward slightly. One hand went to the zipper, pulling it down so slowly it made Sam's mouth go dry.

Dalton left his pants open and hanging on his hips, showing the blue velvet g-string and confirming that yes, he did have quite the package. He rolled his hips, letting the pants slip down inch by inch, exposing long, muscular legs. His hands ran up his rippled stomach, coming up to tease his nipples. Dalton did two side steps and the pants were now a rumpled heap on the stage.

Fuck, he was damned good.

The tie went sailing into the audience. The woman at Sam's table bowled over another woman to grab it.

With a few roll of his shoulders, the shirt fell off him.

Standing in the g-string, the song finished. The crowd erupted in cheering and clapping. Sam was stomping and whistling without shame.

"Sorry, lovers," Dalton's voice, still low and rumbling. "Only have time for one more song." The audience booed and whined. "I know, I know. But I promise this one will be extra special." He walked to the edge of the stage and down the steps. A spotlight followed him as he wandered around the candlelit tables. People reached out to touch him. He smiled and winked at everyone. He stopped in front of Sam.

"What's your name, handsome," he whispered.

"Sam," he replied, swallowing nervously. Dalton shivered.

"Is your voicebox in your testicles, Sam," Dalton said smoothly. The audience laughed. Sam felt heat spread up his neck. Dalton held out his hand. "Got something special for you."

Sam shook his head. The woman at his table was bouncing in her seat, shooing Sam towards the stage. The crowd started chanting "Do it."

Sam thanked God and every other deity out there that Dean was not here to see this.

He took Dalton's hand and stood. The crowd cheered and whistled as Dalton led Sam up to the stage.

A chair was positioned in the middle of the stage. Dalton eased Sam onto it. He trailed his hand along Sam's shoulders as he moved behind Sam. The audience quieted down. Dalton leaned over, his mouth at Sam's ear.

"Well, I was sittin', waitin', wishin', and you believed in superstitions," Dalton started. He wasn't singing, he was moaning, grinding out the words. Sam's eyes fluttered shut as the warm breath sent goosebumps on his neck. As he sang, Dalton brushed his well muscled chest against the back of Sam's head. Sam's dick twitched in the now too tight denim.

Dalton moved and sat on Sam's lap, his shoulder blades pressed to Sam's chest. His head rested back on Sam's shoulders as he sang, rolling his hips.

Dalton's hand went to his crotch, rubbing himself through the velvet.

Oh, God, Sam wanted to touch, to take this man's dick in his own hand, rub it through the fabric. He wanted to lick, kiss and bite the miles of flesh spread out on his lap.

Dalton ground his ass back against Sam's quickly hardening dick as he continued to sing.

"Must I always be waiting, waiting on you?" Dalton purred, turning to brush his lips along Sam's clean shaven face. Dalton swung around, straddling Sam's thighs, leaning in close, soclose. His hands went to Sam's shoulders and he began rolling his hips. Dalton rested his feather covered forehead against Sam's and kept singing.

The song passed in a blur for Sam. Dalton kept touching, caressing, grinding, and making such a nice song sound so bloody filthy.

The song finished and the audience went crazy again. Dalton wrapped his arms around Sam's broad shoulders and his mouth hovered by Sam's ear.

"Thanks for being such a good sport, Sammy," Dalton whispered, his voice so low and dripping with want. Sam couldn't even find the words to ask this man, this sexy, desirable man to not call him Sammy. He just nodded.

Dalton stood and smiled at Sam. He held a hand out to help Sam out of the chair. Sam took it and stood. Dalton brushed his thumb along the knuckles briefly and pointed him towards the stairs.

Sam didn't stop back at his table. He pushed through the crowd to the bathroom. He locked himself in a stall and unzipped his jeans. A minute later, he was coming all over his hand.

* * *

There will potentially be a sequel for this in the future. :D


End file.
